A Day With Dick Ovens

I seriously wish I was friends with Rick Owens because he is obviously fucking amazing. Recently, he let Lynn Yaeger and a photographer into his Paris home. AND, OH BOY, HE DID NOT DISAPPOINT. It’s exactly what you would think Rick Owens’ house would be: Harsh, minimal and full of blacks and grays. There’s also terrifyingly random animal limb tables and stuffed monkeys. Rick, if you’re reading this, let’s kick it, bro. I think your wifey with the gold teeth is cool, despite the fact that shit is a certifiable witch. I love that your shower is the kind of shower I’d imagine having to use if I was in a Saw movie.

Anyway, this is how I imagine how spending a day with RO would go down:

8:00am: We kick it with a typical Parisian breakfast of cigarettes and disdain.

8:30am: I catch my drop crotch on the wrought iron chairs at the café. Rick pretends not to notice and when I clumsily apologize he makes a self-effacing joke that makes me instantly feel at ease. Something like, “Don’t worry Jon, on my first day in droppies I totally felt like I had perpetually pooped my pants!”

10:00am: We’re just kicking back, designing furniture that is meant to be perched on like a gargoyle and shit.

10:30am: I really have to pee due to all the Pelligrino and OJ Rick keeps giving me, but I can’t find the bathroom anywhere! There’s a shower, a sink and then, like, this thing that looks like a portal to another dimension. DOES RICK SHIT DIRECTLY INTO OUTER SPACE?!

11:30am: I ask Rick where he keeps his food. Just like with the toilet, I don’t see a kitchen or a fridge anywhere. He points to these black boxes all over the house and says, "We have minibars on each floor—I can always get a cookie."(This is an actual quote btw.) RICK LIKES COOKIES TOO! HE REALLY IS HUMAN AND CHARMING AND I KNEW IT ALL ALONG. He also asks how hungry I am and I say "famished" to sound all smart and cool and he says “Oh Jon, don’t be so dramatic.” He then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sandwich because he designs all his jackets to have a pocket big enough for a sandwich because he hates bags, which you guys all know because I have basically mentioned that fact daily on Four Pins since I found out. I totally regret bringing my complimentary Monocle tote bag to our hangout.

12:15pm: Rick calls me out for labeling him "Dick Ovens" in a blog post and refuses to talk to me as punishment. I also have to sit on a triangle chair in timeout.

1:25pm: Rick kicks me out because, over-enthused by our shared appreciation of Young Jeezy, I break down a White Owl on one of his mink pelts. I hurt his feelings by saying something I don’t mean like, “WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU NEED A HAIRCUT, RICK!”

5:45pm: I text Rick: “I’m sorry bruh, I didn’t mean that shit. I treasure ur friendship.” He texts back a praying hands emoji. We make plans to play N64 later that week when we're both free.